BY DR. AGONSON
…And ever through the day the drizzle fell,
the light rain tried to wash away the blood,
but heaven’s gentle tears quenched not that hell.
No rainbow came after the crimson flood.
The tears run hot across my burning cheeks.
My muted screams, trapped in my head, rebound;
like fading echoes off some lofty peaks
my cries return to me and me surround.
What ways are there that man may yet escape
the private hell he labors to erect?
Cannot some skillful hand come and reshape
the twisted soul that I myself have recked?
The soft rains are the only answer here
which heaven gives to mortals on this sphere.
Tale Told 